Della's Blessed Event
by Margaret Henson
Summary: Della finally has a baby, but how well does Perry handle it?


A/N: These are not my peeps. They belong to Erle Stanley Gardner. This is set in 1958, pre-sonogram, pre-cell phone, et cetera.

Della's Blessed Event

She had gone into labor during dinner. Perry Mason rushed Della to the hospital and was told to "wait here." Night had become early morning, and still no Della.

He examined her wedding band the nurse had given him to hold. In his massive hands, the slender ribbon of gold felt as delicate as the woman who wore it. Fearful of dropping it, he wrapped the ring in his handkerchief and put it in his breast pocket.

It seemed one of them was alwaystaking the other to the hospital for something: Della's appendix before the wedding, Perry's tonsils after the wedding, Della's ankle when she slipped on the courthouse steps . . .

"We've run into some complications," the nurse had told him what felt like hours ago.

Was it his fault Della was having problems? _"Maybe too much excitement," _he thought. _"Shouldn't have had her out so late, but she wanted to go—insisted she'd be all right." _He hung his head in his hands. _"Please don't let anything happen to her,"_ he prayed. Perry could feel himself start to cry; the dam was about to break. Just as the first tear left his eye, he heard a voice above him and jerked his head up.

"Perry?"

"Huh?" asked the articulate lawyer.

"Della's fine—they both are," replied Dr. Sauer.

"The baby's okay then?" Perry asked for confirmation.

Laughing, the doctor said, "Yes, _he_ is doing great—all eight pounds of him."

Perry leaned back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. "Can I see her, uh, them?"

"Sure, come on," the doctor said as he led Perry down the corridor.

They reached Della's room, and Perry cautiously followed the doctor inside.

Crouching by her, Dr. Sauer whispered, "Della . . ."

The girl stirred and tried to fight the anesthetic. "Yes?" she replied groggily.

Motioning to Perry, Sauer replied, "There's someone to see you."

Della turned to her visitor. "Hey you . . . Come here."

In two long-legged strides, the attorney reached her bedside. "I'm sorry for all this," he croaked.

Reaching up, Della stroked his cheek. "I told you it's not your fault," she tried to assure him.

"I know, but—"

"Shh! We're fine, Perry."

She quickly met the doctor's eyes, and he nodded. "Your son is a healthy eight-pounder," he replied.

"A boy . . ." Della looked into Perry's face. "See? I told you I was carrying a boy."

"All right, you win," he conceded. "I was holding out for a girl. It was Paul who—"

"Does he know?" Della asked abruptly.

"I called his answering service when they took you into the delivery room. They've been trying to get hold of him all night."

"That's Paul," sighed Della, "the prodigal detective."

"Would you care to see your baby now?" offered a nurse pushing a bassinet into the room.

"Oh yes, thank you," Della replied.

Dr. Sauer and Perry helped Della sit up as the nurse placed the new arrival into her arms.

"He looks just like you," Perry commented.

"Flatterer!" Della shot back.

"Well he does have his mother's eyes," Perry pointed out.

"Maybe, but the chin is definitely that of his father," Della was quick to remind him.

Cocking his head to one side, Perry squinted at the baby and said, "Hmm, okay, I'll give you that. I just don't see it though."

They both laughed, then Perry locked his azure eyes onto Della's dark-hazel ones.

"What's going on up there?" she asked softly.

Perry dropped his gaze briefly then met her face. "I was just thinking about . . ."

His voice trailed off, and Della pushed a lock of hair out of his face.

"I know," she said, nodding.

They fell silent again and gazed poignantly at each other. The nurse returned, interrupting the tender scene.

"Excuse me . . ." she said politely.

Perry jumped to a standing position and shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Yes?" asked Della.

"Sorry to break in, but your husband is here, Mrs. Drake."

"The prodigal detective returns," Perry commented.

"Perry!" Della admonished. "Show him in, nurse."

Paul Drake blew past the nurse and fell to his knees at Della's bedside.

Putting her hand to his face, he said, "Della . . . I'm sorry I took so long to get here. I came here as soon as I got in touch with my answering service. I should have known better than to—"

Laughing gently, Della said, "Paul, it's all right. We're fine . . . thanks to Perry."

Shifting his eyes to Perry, Paul said, "Thanks, Perry. I owe you one."

"Several," replied the lawyer, giving Paul a tired grin. Remembering, he took out the folded handkerchief containing Della's wedding band. "Here," he said, passing it to Paul, "it's Della's."

"Huh?" a clueless Paul Drake asked, accepting the package.

"It's my wedding ring, darling," explained Della. "You have to keep it while I'm here."

"Oh, right. Thanks Perry," he said, tucking it inside his pocket.

"I told Perry that the baby has your chin," Della remarked to Paul as she focused on the newborn's face.

"So he does," Paul marveled, looking in awe at his son. "Gosh, he's beautiful." Looking into Della's eyes, he added, "But not half as beautiful as his mother."

Bending over them, Paul kissed his wife on the mouth then nuzzled her neck.

Clearing his throat, Perry suggested, "I guess I'd better be going."

Paul pulled away and cut his eyes to Perry. "Thanks again for all you've done. We're really grateful."

"You're welcome," Perry said as he recovered his hat from the table. "I'll let Gertie know you're okay. She's been worried about you."

"Thanks, Chief," Della replied, her eyes conveying warmth.

Perry nodded then left the room, and Della and Paul turned their attention back to the new bundle.

As he let the door click shut behind him, Perry thought, _"You're one lucky man, Paul . . . "_

Perry shifted his hat forward on his head as he whistled down the hall and into the predawn light.


End file.
